"I guess that makes you a Conch Woman. But what are the others supposed to be like?"
"Let me tell you what it says." She reached and took back the book. "The next one, the Art Woman, has a voice like a peacock, and she delights in singing and poetry. Her carnal desire may be less strong than the Conch Woman, at least until she's properly aroused, but then her kama salila is hot, with a perfume like honey. And it's abundant, producing a sound with the act of union. She is sensuous, but for her lovemaking is always a kind of art."
"Who would be an Art Woman?"
She looked at him and smiled wryly. "I think Shirin, the one who fascinates you so much, may well be an Art Woman. But I don't know her body well."
But I will, Hawksworth told himself. I'll know all of her. Somehow. I swear it.
"And what about the Lotus Woman?"
"According to Kalyana Mai she's actually the highest order of woman. She's a spiritual being, who loves to converse with teachers and Hindu priests. She's always very beautiful, never dark, and her breasts are full and high. Her yoni is like an opening lotus bud and her kama salila is perfumed like a lily newly burst."
"And who would be a Lotus Woman?"
"The only one I've ever known for sure is in Agra now. She's a classical dancer, a Hindu temple dancer. Her name is Kamala."
"I saw a few dancers recently. At the Shahbandar's estate house. In my feringhi opinion they weren't of a very high order."